


Orange

by bearonthecouch



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Bipolar Anders (Dragon Age), Boys Kissing, Depression, Hand Jobs, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-20
Updated: 2019-08-20
Packaged: 2020-09-18 22:42:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,316
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20320714
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bearonthecouch/pseuds/bearonthecouch
Summary: Karl can make him stay.





	Orange

Anders hadn't cried since he was a little kid. Not because he was sad, anyway. He cries as an involuntary reaction to pain and can't stop himself, though he hears the templars taunting and laughing at him. But when he's done crying, when his head is done swimming, and when he no longer feels like he has to fight for his life, he's left with nothing but emptiness, an overwhelming lethargy that tricks the templars into believing that they have won after all. And this is what Anders hates the most. It feels like his body is scraped raw. His memory plays tricks on him. He cannot summon up the effort even to fall asleep, and so he lies there, in bed, awake but unmoving.

“I brought you some breakfast,” a man's voice says, and Anders knows that voice, but he cannot place a name to it. He lets out a groan as the man sits down at the foot of his bed. And suddenly, the man's fingers are tangling through Anders's hair, and Anders understands.

“Karl,” he says, with a voice rough from days of disuse. The man is a blur of graying hair and pale skin. But he smiles, and Anders doesn't know what else to do, so he smiles back. Karl sets the tray down on the bed but Anders doesn't eat it. He has no appetite.

“Here, at least try some of this,” Karl says, offering Anders a slice of the vibrant orange he's just peeled. But Anders shakes his head, and Karl does not try to fight him. He makes no effort to hide the concern he feels, but this routine is familiar enough that he does not ask stupid questions like “Are you okay?” or “What happened?”

Anders's arms are painted with ugly bruises, black and purple and yellow, and his wrists are raw and weeping after days locked into the templars' heavy manacles.

Karl takes Anders's hand gently in his and pulls out a jar of salve from somewhere within his voluminous robes. His touch is calming, and sends weak butterfly-flutters of something that might be desire through Anders's skin. Anders moans and seeks the contact, even as he hisses at the pain when the medicine does its work on his torn and traumatized flesh.

Karl sets the jar down on the nearby bookshelf that serves as a makeshift table, and then he puts the remainder of the morning meal on the same shelf.

He shifts closer to Anders, draws his thumb down the boy's cheek, and lifts his chin so that he can see his caramel-brown eyes. Anders looks dazed, like he's looking _through _Karl rather than at him. But he doesn't resist the eye contact.

Karl presses his forehead to Anders's, cradling the boy's head with his hand, threading his fingers through his hair once more. Anders sighs and bites his lip and slowly comes to life. He takes in one shaky breath, and then another. “Karl,” he whines, until the older man silences him with a kiss.

Anders can feel Karl's mana lighting up all around him, pulling at him like static electricity. Anders is wrung out and empty, and he imagines he can still taste the acrid poison of magebane at the back of his throat. He shies away from Karl, lays down on his stomach and closes his eyes. Karl squeezes his shoulder, his strong hands kneading at the tension there. Anders doesn't push him away, even as he moves his hands from Anders's shoulder down his back. His thumb runs down Anders's spine, until Karl's hand is hovering over the waistband of Anders's loose-fitting trousers. Anders moans and shifts. His erection is now obvious, tenting the fabric of his pants. But he doesn't pull Karl closer. He doesn't even say anything.

“Anders,” Karl says, and his voice is louder than it has been at any point thus far. Anders's eyes slowly meet his. They still look dazed, and Karl takes the boy's shoulder and shakes, until Anders pulls his arm away, breathing heavy and still fixated on Karl. “Anders,” the man says slowly, carefully, "I'm here.”

Anders blinks once, then nods slowly. “I know,” he says, his voice hoarse but steady. Karl wraps an arm around him, and the warmth of his touch floods Anders with desperate need. “Karl, please,” he whispers, close against the older man's ear. Karl rotates his body and hooks his legs around Anders's hips, straddling him. He pulls Anders's head close to his, and presses bruising kisses up his neck, until he's sucking at the skin just below his ear. Anders tries to shake him off, but does not dislodge him. Karl steadies Anders with one hand at the small of his back, and with his free hand pulls Anders's hardened cock out from his trousers. He strokes Anders's shaft with his thumb, while his fingers, wrapped around his member, rub and pull to create friction. Anders's hips rise, seeking more contact. He moans as Karl's hand continues to work his dick. Anders continues to try to wriggle out from under Karl, wanting to get on top of the other man, to lose himself in sex, to be in control, for once. Karl understands what he wants, but he holds Anders still with his free hand locking tight around Anders's wrist while he whispers sweet nothings into the young man's ear.

Karl continues teasing Anders, slowing down his ministrations while he listens to the boy whimpering and begging for release. Karl kisses Anders, slow and deep, and then he gives him what he's begging for. Anders spurts out sticky white cum, exploding into Karl's hand and staining his sheets and mattress. Neither of them seem to mind. Anders is breathing heavy, and his eyes meet Karl's. The man smiles at him, and kisses him again, on the forehead this time. Anders smiles weakly. He still wants sex, wants Karl to stay, desperately wants to forget where he is. Karl pulls him into a world where pain fades into the background, Karl can make him _stay._

But there are rules that restrict Karl's and Anders's relationship, the rules that say they can't have a relationship, that there is no such thing as love in the Circle Tower. And so Anders knows that what he and Karl have is not love. It's a distraction, it feels good, it's something to _want _in this prison cell world where Anders's every instinct is punished quickly and harshly. Anders knows that if he and Karl were caught together, it would result in punishment for both of them. They'd be forcefully separated. Anders tries to talk himself out of trouble, but no one's listened to him since he was a kid. And Karl... Anders knows Karl, and he isn't sure that the man would fight at all, confronted with his own wrongdoing.

Karl hugs Anders close and presses his lips to the top of his head, but then he slips away. Anders watches him go, and he itches for _something_ to fill the void left behind. After a moment, when he's alone in the room again, Anders reaches for the orange Karl had left him. He peels each piece slowly, and eats carefully, savoring the sweet flavor and trying as hard as he can to let this small, simple thing be enough to push away the pain and the emptiness and keep him awake. One slice, then two. By the time he finishes the orange, he can at least manage to keep a smile on his face. He looks down at his arm, bruised and abraded, but he doesn't feel it quite so strongly anymore. And when the patrolling templar looks into his little room, Anders looks every bit the good little mageling, studying the book on his lap.

And he may be studying a map of Ferelden, but the templar doesn't know that.


End file.
